The past lingered in silence, its truths just out of reach. And so was the man who held them.

Harry stormed into the sitting room at Grimmauld Place, frustration radiating off him in waves. He barely got a few words out before Sirius and Remus burst into laughter. Not just a chuckle, not even an amused smirk—full-bodied, unapologetic laughter that left Sirius wiping tears from his eyes.

Harry scowled, crossing his arms, trying to keep his temper in check. The laughter felt like a cruel ridicule of everything he'd just tried to understand. "I'm serious!" he snapped, frustration bubbling up again. "He stood there acting like he was giving me a chance, but then—"

But Sirius just shook his head, still grinning. "Oh, Harry. You walked right into that one."

Harry bristled. This wasn't the reaction he had expected. He thought they would be on his side—maybe Remus would gently remind him to "respect Professor Snape's expertise" in his usual calm way—but this? This was outright mockery.

When their laughter finally subsided, Remus was the first to apologize. "Sorry, Harry, that was inappropriate of us." Then, adopting the patient tone he used in the classroom, he asked, "Harry, what's Severus's occupation?"

Harry blinked, thrown off by the question. "Uh… a professor?" He narrowed his eyes. "If this is some long-winded way of telling me to respect him just because he's a teacher—"

"No, no," Sirius interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "The other one." Then he muttered under his breath, "Or another one. Merlin knows how many jobs the secretive git really has."

Harry hesitated before answering, "Spy?"

Remus nodded, guiding him forward as if he were a particularly slow student grasping a basic concept. "And he's spying on…?"

"Voldemort," Harry answered automatically, irritation simmering. This felt like some kind of ridiculous game, as if the answer should be obvious. Maybe it was. Maybe he was just too angry to see it.

Remus continued in the same patient, teacher-like tone. "And Severus told you that Voldemort is one of the strongest…?"

"Legilimens," Harry said flatly.

Remus delivered the final piece of the puzzle with an almost satisfied air. "So, to spy on him, what skill would Severus need to survive?"

Harry's mind clicked into place with a sudden clarity that felt almost painful. Snape had set him up, had made him think he could break through when the whole time, he had no chance. His anger flared again, hotter than before.

"That bastard !" he burst out, fury reigniting in full force.

Sirius and Remus laughed again, and this time, Harry felt truly livid.

Snape had never intended to let him see anything. At least not tonight. Not on his first try. How could he have been so stupid? If Snape's Occlumency was strong enough to survive spying on the most powerful Legilimens in the world, how could Harry—a beginner—hope to break through?

And yet, Snape had stood there, arms crossed, face impassive, and said in that insufferable, condescending tone. " I am letting you. Standing here. Refraining from retaliating."

That was just... typical of him, the bloody git.

Remus watched Harry for a moment, his calm voice steady but tinged with something akin to sympathy. "I know this isn't easy, Harry. But Severus doesn't work the same way we do."

But that only made Harry more determined. He clenched his fists. He wasn't going to let this slide. Snape wanted to play games? Fine. But Harry wasn't going to lose so easily. Next time, he'd be ready.

Harry spent the next few days holed up in the library, poring over every book he could find on Legilimency. He knew Snape hadn't been impressed with his Occlumency skills, but at least back then, the man hadn't looked at him with that infuriating mixture of mockery and disappointment.

It wasn't as though he hadn't tried. The previous year, in the little free time he had between schoolwork, Remus's lessons, and preparing for the Tournament, he had studied everything Hermione found useful on Occlumency. It hadn't made Snape any less insufferable, but it was something. And if he could do that, then he could do the same for Legilimency. He would.

Snape had sprung this lesson on him without warning. Next time, Harry would be prepared.

When their next lesson arrived, Harry played dumb. He pretended he hadn't figured out Snape's little game.

He met Snape's gaze, lifted his wand, and cast:

"Legilimens."

Nothing.

"Legilimens."

A wall.

Again. And again. And again.

Harry clenched his fists, struggling to keep his frustration from showing. If Snape wanted to stand there like a free target, acting bored while Harry failed over and over again, so be it.

But it was infuriating.

That faint arch of a brow. That almost lazy posture, as if this was the easiest thing in the world. That smug air of superiority that only deepened every time Harry failed.

His hands were shaking by the time Snape finally ended the lesson.

"Enough, Potter," Snape said coolly, tucking his wand away. "There are only so many times I can watch you humiliate yourself in one evening."

Harry stormed out without a word.

He wasn't planning to go far. He knew better than to wander out alone, but he just needed air. The entire lesson had been a disaster.

It wasn't just Snape's attitude that irritated him—it was his own reaction to it. He should have been better prepared. He should have known Snape wouldn't just let him waltz into his mind. How stupid did Snape think he was?

He could have seen the trap himself if he had taken a moment to think about Snape's strange offer—he didn't need Remus to lead him to the answer with breadcrumbs. If only he hadn't been so caught up in the whirlwind of emotions…

Harry stopped mid-step.

No—how stupid had he been?

Snape's offer had been out of character from the start. Harry had known that, but he hadn't stopped to think about it. He'd just taken it at face value and charged ahead, determined to break through by sheer stubbornness alone.

Was that the real lesson? Not to accept things at face value? Not to approach problems head-on with brute force and no strategy?

Had Snape designed the first lesson as a test—to see if Harry truly believed he was prepared?

"Since you're so convinced of your own maturity," he had said.

What if Snape's real intention was to force him to admit defeat—to make him realize he wasn't ready, that he was still too immature?

Harry barely had time to process the realization before a chill crawled up his spine.

Not the crisp coolness of the night air. Something else.

His breath hitched.

And then—

A man's frantic warning.

A woman's desperate pleading.

A high, cruel laugh.

Dementors.

Harry whipped out his wand, heart hammering. His friends, Sirius, Remus—he thought of them. The family he had found. He thought of his mum—her fierce protectiveness, her warmth, and her laughter. He didn't need to hold onto the sound of her screams to remember her voice now.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

The silver light burst from his wandtip, blinding against the darkness. The Dementors shrieked and scattered as a brilliant, silver form charged forward.

Harry blinked.

It wasn't a stag anymore.

It was a doe.

For a moment, the Patronus simply stood there, gazing at him. Or… not at him—behind him.

Harry turned sharply—

And his stomach dropped.

Severus Snape stood at the edge of the street, frozen in place. His face was twisted in undisguised shock and fury.

Oh, he was in trouble.

Snape strode forward, robes billowing like a storm. Before Harry could get a word out, iron fingers clamped around his arm.

"You reckless, idiotic, brainless—" Snape all but snarled as he dragged him forward. "Of all the imbecilic things you could have done. You moronic, foolish little—"

Harry didn't fight him.

Because he knew.

He had left the house alone. He had cast a Patronus in the middle of a Muggle neighborhood. He was underage, and the Ministry could detect his magic.

He was in deep, deep trouble.

The front door to Grimmauld Place slammed open as Sirius and Remus appeared, wands in hand.

"What the hell is going on?" Sirius demanded, eyes darting between Harry and the death grip Snape had on his arm.

But before Harry could say a word, Snape cut in, voice still vibrating with fury.

"Your godson," Snape spat, "has just ensured that the entire Ministry—and by extension, the entire Wizarding World—knows exactly where he is."

Silence.

Sirius blinked. "…What?"

Snape's glare could have burned through stone. "He just cast a full-fledged Patronus in the middle of the street."

Remus inhaled sharply. Sirius went very, very still.

Harry swallowed.

Yep.

He was so dead.

Snape didn't say anything else. He simply shoved Harry toward Sirius and vanished with a sharp pop, leaving behind only the echo of his departure.

In that last fleeting glance, Harry wasn't sure if he had seen something new in Snape's expression—uncertainty, concern. It was so uncharacteristically plain to see that it was more telling than the expression itself. But that didn't make sense. Snape wasn't the one in deep trouble. Harry was.

Then he saw the realization dawn on Sirius's face. His godfather was staring at the empty space where Snape had stood a second ago, his lips pressed into a thin line. Whatever it was, Sirius had seen it too.

"What was it?" Harry asked tentatively, his stomach twisting.

Sirius and Remus exchanged a grim look, their silence stretching uncomfortably, as if the weight of unspoken fears pressed between them. They didn't answer Harry. Instead, they ushered him inside with quiet urgency, the air around them thick with unspoken worry.

"What was it?!" Harry shouted this time, his frustration spilling over. "Don't hide things from me because you think it's for my own good! It's not!"

He knew he was in trouble for his reckless actions, but the way they were acting—glancing at each other with that wary, careful silence—infuriated him even more. He was tired of being kept in the dark.

Sirius let out a long breath, ignoring the warning look Remus shot him. "He told Voldemort he didn't know where you are. Were you seen together by anyone?"

A cold chill ran down Harry's spine. The question hung in the air, suffocating. It was as if the Dementors had returned, stealing the warmth from the room. Had they been seen?

Had he just cost Snape his life?

For what? A midnight stroll?

He really hoped not. But Snape never showed up again.

Not when the letter arrived, informing Harry that he had been expelled from Hogwarts.

Not when the second letter came, summoning him to a disciplinary hearing.

Not in the Order meetings, where his absence was noted but never explained.

Not even when Harry was cleared of all charges and told he could return to Hogwarts next year.

The relief that should have come with the news felt distant, almost meaningless. A deep sickness curled in Harry's gut, a gnawing weight that wouldn't go away. He was safe. But was Snape?

Sirius, usually one to celebrate any victory, looked even worse than Harry felt. He paced the room with restless energy, fingers twitching, glancing toward the door every time there was a noise outside—as if expecting someone who never came.

But Snape was gone. And for the first time, Harry understood that his absence wasn't just noticeable—it was deeply, unnervingly wrong.

The silence became heavier. Every time Harry walked into a room where Snape should have been—scowling, sneering, snapping some sarcastic remark—it felt like an empty space had opened up in the world. No one said anything outright, but he could feel the unease hanging over Grimmauld Place like a storm waiting to break.

He caught Remus watching him more than once, brows drawn together in quiet concern, as if he knew what was bothering Harry but didn't know how to bring it up. Even the Weasleys, usually the first to offer comfort, seemed to sense something was wrong, though they never mentioned it outright. Maybe they thought Harry was just shaken from his hearing. Maybe they thought it was just another weight added to the pile he already carried.

But Sirius knew better.

One evening, as the house lay quiet, Harry found him sitting alone in the dimly lit kitchen, staring at a half-empty glass of firewhisky. His godfather looked older than he had ever seen him, shadows under his eyes, his shoulders heavy with something unsaid.

"You still thinking about it?" Harry asked, leaning against the doorway.

Sirius didn't answer immediately. He took a slow sip, then let out a breath, staring at the table. "It's hard not to."

Harry hesitated. "Do you think he's—"

"Don't." Sirius's voice was quiet but firm. "We don't know anything yet. And until we do, we don't assume the worst."

Harry swallowed hard. It wasn't much comfort. But it was something.

Still, the uncertainty gnawed at him.

And still, Snape did not return. His absence stretched on, an unanswered question that refused to fade.

Harry tried to throw himself into preparations for the upcoming school year, pretending everything was fine. But every time he picked up a book, every time he sat down for a meal, every time he tried to sleep, his mind returned to the last time he had seen Snape—that fleeting look, that almost imperceptible fear. And the weight of it sat heavy in his chest.